Rain and Sunshine
by Fields of Elysium
Summary: "Life is a blend of laughter and tears, a combination of rain and sunshine."-Norman Vincent Peale. Mrs. Mellark's journey from Iris Carver to the town witch. Cannon complacent.
1. Chapter 1

" _Do_ _you remember when we first met? I sure do. It was sometime in early September." -_ Jack Johnson _Do You Remember_

I look up from my book, hearing the sound of finger tips strumming against the table. This someone has disrupted my reading and I was at the character introduction; if I don't get attached to these characters than what's the point of reading it. Whoever it is, they better have a good reason. There's a boy; his blond hair in disarray, sticking up from tugging at it anxiously. He mumbled 'who is the Greek goddess of tragedy?'

We we're the only two people amongst the rarely used reference books of the library. I tend to isolate myself from most of my peers. I really don't see the point, I don't have much in common with them. I am also afraid that I would let something slip.

I close the book getting one last waft of that old book smell then I walk up to him. The carpeting absorbing the sound of my footsteps. The only sound in the room the rustling of paper, the frantic scribbling and erasing of pencil against said paper, and the flickering of the florescent lights.

"The answer is Melpomene." I whisper. We might be the only two in here but it's still the school library, being quite is just common courtesy. Still does it apply when there is no one else to bother?

He look up quickly, clearly startled. "I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that." A crooked smile gracing his lips.

I raise my voice a tad. "I said the answer is Melpomene. She's the daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the Titan of memory you know..."

His glaucous blue eyes glimmered with mirth at my shy response. "Thanks I needed that. If it weren't for you I probably would have spent the rest of the lunch period trying to figure it out and then just pick the last answers randomly right before I turn it in. I can't afford another low grade in there. I honestly picked the wrong day to get sick; mythology every one of them has weird names." Then with a mildly self-deprecating smirk he said "Well who am I to talk the majority of Panem has a weird name."

"Well that's true. Most of us are named after some type of plant, food, spice, or just a random word." I couldn't help the slip of a smile forming on my face.

"You forgot animals."

"Oh, of course how silly of me." I agree while fake hitting my head with the base of my palm. In an even more out of character move for myself I reached out to shake his hand. "I'm Iris, Iris Carver."

"I'm Cedar Rose, do you mind helping me with the rest of this?" He whispers with a smile causing his dimples to come out.

"No problem, we don't have to whisper the librarian is out to a lunch meeting."

"She just let you in here?"

"She's fine with it. It's usually just her and I. She trusts me enough to not burn the place down. I'm surprised that she let you in here if she was leaving though…"

"I guess she went to the restroom or something." He say as he pushes the chair next to him out, waving his hand, gesturing me to sit down next to him.

"Must have." I say as I slowly take the seat in the uncomfortable chair, grateful that I no longer have to stand there awkwardly.

"So what else do you know about Greek mythology?" A new problem arises. I have no clue what to do with my hands. After fidgeting for a moment or two I firmly place my hands in my lap.

"Enough hopefully." I had a conversation with a peer and I did a good portion of the talking, I might have hit my socializing quota for the year. I was friendly it was weird. I spoke to another human without any obligation, I can just imagine my mother cheering if she knew.

* * *

That's how the first few weeks of our friendship, no more like a commensal relationship, go. He gets help with his homework whenever he decides to stop by the library and I get a companion though I'm not quite sure if that's what I want. I help him and he helps me kill time. I find out that he is the florist son and I laugh hard enough that the librarian actually shushes me. It's still funny that the florists would have the surname Rose. I'm sure I would have known this if I spent more time with my mother.

"Really you're one to talk. You're last name is Carver and you're the carpenters daughter. That pretty much the same thing." He whispers. For a moment I worry that I am offending him, but he has that ever present twinkle in his eyes and he is clearly trying to hold back his own grin. I am right, it is funny.

Slowly whatever the nature of our relationship is it turns into an actual friendship. It happens slowly enough that I didn't notice it happening, I didn't notice that I made my first actual friend. I'm sure if I had I would have been scared and nervous enough to screw it up. Luckily if I was uncomfortable with the attention he would deflect the attention to himself.

I learn quite a bit about his family before I even met them. His father had married into the florist shop, odd considering as the only son he had claim on the bakery but he got bought out when his older sister married. He can't bake anyway according to Cedar and it left him open to take over the florist shop. Cedar has another aunt his mom's younger sister who's 19 and is in training to take over as the librarian at the justice building. He says that his aunt Willow was a late in life child, it makes sense since there is a rather significant age difference between his mom and aunt.

I also learn about him. Cedar is 2 years older than me. He is allergic to cats and that makes him want one all the more. He has a good hearty laugh and oddly enough he finds my wit funny as proven by him spewing milk out of his nose on more than one occasion. He's funny too but in a goofy manner, not to say he isn't clever, it's just that it always has a goofy undertone to it. There's a lightness about his presents, maybe it's normal with kids but then again I don't spend time with kids that often.

More than anything Cedar seemed loyal. If he cared about you he would find a way to stand by you when it was needed and more often than not it got him in trouble. He took the blame for a rouge spitball that accidently hit the teacher in the back of the head. Cedar has detention for the rest of the month. He is kind too. He gave his lunch to a crying first grader who must have left his at home. Part of me wants to hit him for being so… good? I don't know what it is but it intrigues me. While our friendship just makes me realize my own faults I am starting to believe it also starting to help me evolve as a person.

 **Authors Notes:** First thank you for reading, this has become my brain child, it has driven me crazy pushed me to the edge, and I've completely fallen in love with some of the characters. Secondly this is more like a teaser than an actual chapter. Chapters will gradually get longer the more immersed in District 12 we get.

While this fic is currently rated T it will be bumped up to M, when the time calls for it. Now its Mrs. Mellark's story so there _will_ be child abuse as well as whole plethora of things; basically everything under the sun. Hopefully I manage to balance the darkness of the story with the light of life. I don't want this to come off as _angst_ while there will be angsty moments I hope it comes off as complex, funny, dramatic, romantic, and even tragic at times.

My goal is not only to _explain,_ not justify Mrs. Mellark, but to create a culture of the Merchant class which I haven't really found in any fics. Most fics focus on the social differences or life in the Seam, I like the idea of seeing 'how the other half lives' in District 12.

I would like to thank my dear friend **WafflePup** who has read and re-read my work giving me critics as well as putting up with my incessant emails and text messages. Jessa who although is no longer online, I hope your reading this, gave me a challenge to write a fic from an unliked characters POV. And a special thanks to my sister who put up with my blabbering and listened to me talk through plot points, and convinced me to keep a what is bound to be a more controversial part of this fic.

I have the next few chapters written and the plot line completely out lined so updates should be up semi-frequently. I would like to keep at least five chapters ahead of updates in order to have a better idea of what is up ahead and make any necessary changes (I've already had a few surprise me, and had characters pop up when they felt like it).

Please review, as it helps me become a better writer, and I hope you come back for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

" _When being lovers meant a stolen kiss and holding hands when nobody else around Charlie said he wanted to get married but we were only ten so we had to wait"-_ Miranda Lambert, _Me and Charlie Talking_

* * *

We slowly develop a friendship. It's more on his end than mine. I don't seek him out he finds me and reaches out. He'll often leave his group of friends to have lunch with me. I don't think they like me very much, I know I wouldn't like the girl Cedar was leaving me to hang out with especially if she was some odd, quiet, mousey girl that spent too much time buried in a book.

Yet oddly enough they seem to find ways of including me on the few occasions Cedar has managed to convince me to join them. Maybe they aren't that mad at me after all Cedar doesn't seem like the kind to do something he doesn't want to.

I genuinely like his friends they seem like a kind and silly group, not very focused but not many are at our age. I'm one of the few. My parents rarely see eye to eye but one thing they both hold in high regard is diligent study habits on behalf of their children. Thanks to this once Mathis finishes up his last year and if, I cringe at that if, he survives his last reaping he'll have a nice, cushy, decent paying job at the Justice Building. While the pressure will be on during the final stretch pretty soon they'll be on me like stain on a freshly built chest. That's the main reason I don't spend more time with Cedar's friends.

Cedar as it turns out is a pretty good study partner he's quick yet patent, attentive and doesn't mind it once it becomes tedious. He manages to thrive or maybe it just makes him want to push through it even more.

Over the next couple of months our pattern continues, Cedar will find me and ask me if I want to have lunch with his friends or if I need to study. If I say sure we'll spend the next half hour eating and jabbering and a few minutes outside being kids before we part ways.

If I say study we'll spend a few minutes goofing off before we get down to business. He'll give me something he made out of his old homework assignments, a paper heart or box and I'll give him a doodle. We'll study while eating our meager lunches.

He waits for me outside of school underneath the large oak tree. We walk together in a comfortable silence or trading bad jokes, occasionally asking about one another's day. One day his hand sneaks down to hold mine. He looks at me from the corner of his eye, his cheeks turning pink his body stiff. I gnaw at the side of my bottom lip, blushing I'm sure. When he sees that I don't plan on running away he relaxes and grins. Soon my blush subsides and is replaced with a twin to his grin.

We part, he heads straight ahead to the Merchant Square with the rest of the luxury shops and I continue left to the edge of town to the hard labor district.

Handholding soon is added to our walks home and often during lunch with and without his friends.

One day when it came time to part on our walk home he asked me to meet his family, have dinner with them. I say yes and suggest Friday reasoning my father will be out cold by the time I get home. Cedar grins, bends down and kisses my cheek he turns and gets to the florist shop as soon as he can stopping once to turn and wave with his grin still in place, and I, still standing shocked in place.

As I walk home with my hand on my cheek where he kissed me I realize we're a thing. I'm in a thing with Cedar Rose!

Does that count as my first kiss?

I spend the next few days anxious and excited about Friday. Cedar has yet to acknowledge the kiss. If this is what I have to look forward to from guys I don't know if it's worth it. Our routine continues, just handholding no kisses, he doesn't acknowledge the kiss he gave me, and I almost start to wonder if I made that up in my mind.

By the time Friday comes around I'm gotten myself so confused I'm a nervous wreck.

On Friday instead of holding my hand Cedar locks his arm around mine. It's more of a bold gesture. We walk arms locked, laughing just enough to get a few looks from a few people walking down the stone paved streets; most dodging into the first shop they can, not wanting to falling snow to melt and mess up their hair no doubt.

Cedar's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rose are closing up when we come by, I imagine in the winter they don't make much money and on snowy days foot traffic must be non-existent.

The smell of flowers hits me as soon as we open the door. Cedar opens the door and lets me pass in front of him. It's a relatively narrow space, though not necessarily small. On the right side is a long counter which holds a register, I can only assume the rest is work space. The wall filled with shelving holding spools of ribbon, baskets, vases, and such. On the left wall are glass encased refrigerators, most of the center space is filled with a neat arrangement of flowers in metal buckets and wooden crates.

"Mom, dad, this is Iris. Iris these are my parents."

Mrs. Rose a slim, short woman with a delicate nose, stubborn chin, almond shaped eyes, and a bright, warm smile. "Hi sweetie; nice to meet you dear." She welcomes once she's out from behind the register. Instead of shaking my hand she envelopes me in a hug.

"Okay honey let the poor girl go or you're going to break a rib and puncture a lung." Mr. Rose says pulling his wife from me. He's a tall man easily half a foot taller than his wife. He has a broad forehead, mildly deep set eyes, high cheekbones, a head of thick ash blond hair, strong chin, but a weak jawline. While he's not classically handsome there is something about his face that's interesting, captivating even. Mr. Rose takes my hand and shakes it. "Nice to finally meet my son's girlfriend."

And quicker than I could imagine "Dad I can't believe you just said that! Sorry, sometimes parents shouldn't be allowed to speak…" Cedar says trying to apologize for his dad or to take back his words I don't know. Once they're done closing up we walk over to their home; it's relatively small but warm I instantly feel at ease. Cedar lets his parents know that we'll be doing our homework in his room and his mother would call us down when dinner was ready. Cedar quizzes me for my history test that's on Monday and I help him with his science project. I'm drawing a tree when he looks over my shoulder. "That's really good."

"Thanks." One of the many things I'm learning to do is draw, my mother insist it'll help make me a 'proper lady'. I grow quiet at the thought of my mother. "You've seen my doodles before."

"Yeah but you don't really spend more than a few minutes on them, you never get any details on them at least none like this. I can only imagine that if you keep this up you'll be a really good artist. It's pretty, not all that realistic but its good."

"You should see my painting it's a mess. Are you done reading that chapter?" I say quickly hoping to draw attention away from myself. Luckily it works. We spend the rest of our afternoon with our faces buried in our work till dinner.

Cedar gets called down to set the table and I stay upstairs for a few minutes straightening out his room separating his homework assignments from mine. By the time I come down there is another person an older girl who bares a striking resemblance to Mrs. Rose with the same almond eyes, forehead, and high cheekbones. Her nose is rounded rather than pointed giving her face a more graceful appearance, her chin also rounded and less prominent both with relatively thin lips. This must be her younger sister. There's something about her face that reminds me of a fairy. It's impish and a little mischievous. She has a sweet, wide smile. "I'm Willow." She stands, all long and graceful limbs she's tall must be at least my brother's height, maybe taller by an inch or two. Willow is an oddly appropriate name for her. I shake her hand and smile politely. "Iris, nice to meet you." I automatically act how my mother expects when she introduces me to one of her friends: smile, introduce yourself, be seen not heard, and fade away.

Dinner is simple, yet it's very different from the rare occasions that my family sits down for dinner, there is laughter and smiles. It's even a little rowdy. Apparently Willow comes over once a week to have dinner and they have dinner every other Sunday alternating between Mr. and Mrs. Rose's parents. Mrs. Rose says it's a little wilder with Mr. Rose's parents because his sister's family is there and Cedar and Rye are a handful whenever they're together.

Mr. Rose walks me home as he is going to walk Willow home anyway. The air is cold and crisp in my lungs, cool winter air kisses my nose the snow compacts under the weight of our steps. It's dark by the time dinner is over the sky is littered with stars and on the way back from Willow's home Cedar points out a shooting star we both close our eyes and make a wish. By the time I open my eyes, I find Cedar looking at me with a look I don't know how to describe. He just looks at me for a moment longer "I'm going to marry you one day Iris."

"I hope that wasn't your wish. Now it won't come true." I really don't know how to take his declaration, I'm sure if my mother heard it she would remind him the day after my last reaping and hold him at gun point to make him marry me if he ever backed out of his word. I think it might be endearing though I do know I'm glad that she's not here. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek then runs off to his waiting father when they drop me off at my front door.

I'm right my father is passed out drunk on the living room floor. It looks like he fell off the loveseat. I go upstairs and find a dim light coming from underneath my bedroom door. I open it to find Mathis sitting at my desk reading a book. "Hey."

"Hey. Where were you?"

"I had dinner at a friend's house."

"You have a friend? I didn't mean for that to come out like it did."

"I know it's weird. Why my room?"

"I was looking for you and your room is closer to the stairs so if need be I could hide and run. Dad's got heavy feet so I'd be able to hear him coming thanks to the squeaky step and he'd probably go to my room first anyway." Our father has a tendency of trying to beat Mathis when he's drunk not just smacking him around. Mathis is roughly the same size as our father only an inch shorter and puts up a fight when he tries but it's a case by case thing if he wins or loses but he'd rather not have to in the first place. My father tends to ignore me, I don't know if he over looks me in these instances or if he feels that he doesn't need to hit a little girl or maybe I just know how to sneak around him. My mother will usually get at least hit or two if she's home when he's like this.

"Mother home?"

"Is she ever?"

"Good point. Are you hungry? I have left overs."

"Yeah, I am. We need to go to the grocers tomorrow. We're running low on everything."

Mathis goes downstairs and grabs a fork. "This is good." It's a rarity for us to have a meal we didn't have to cook ourselves.

"I'll ask if I can bring you along if they invite me again.

"That'd be nice. I got a few books from the library if you want to take a look. You can read on once you've done your homework."

"It's done. If you want you can look over it yourself." I dig around my backpack and give him my work. I look through the stack of books on my desk as he eats his cold dinner and looks over it for me.

* * *

 **Authors Notes:** I hope you liked this chapter. Now I know it might seem that things might be moving fast for Cedar and Iris but at they've known each other for a few months at this time. They met in early September and it's mid-December.

There will be time jumps since this will cover Iris's life from the age of 10 till the 75th games. Time jumps will be anywhere from a few weeks to a few years in order not to add unnecessary bulk to the story. I do plan on there being a companion series that takes place at the same time with pieces that while aren't relevant to the central story do help build relationships and some that explain other characters actions as well as on occasion filling in the blanks during time jumps.

Cedar is such a teenager sometimes, I hope he didn't come off bratty with his parents.

I tried to create a close relationship between Iris and Mathis, while he is her brother he is about seven-eight years older than she is so he kind of a surrogate father figure in many ways. While they are close, there is distance between them I - hope that you keep that in mind for future chapters.

Again thanks for reading and please review.


	3. Chapter 3

" _He spoke, and words more soft than rain […]_

 _His action won such reverence sweet_

 _As hid all measure of the feat."—_ Ralph Waldo Emerson, _Character_

* * *

Mathis comes to join me at the Rose home for dinner a few times in the past few months. Only once do they ask about our family and after sharing a quick look we are silently agree my birthday would be an appropriate time. I spend more time with Willow as a result of my constant presents at the library. We aren't close, not like a sister or anything but maybe something a kin to that of a close friend of Mathis; one who tolerates his younger sister. We speak of books and in all honesty of little else. Still she has a kind smile.

Birthdays are some of those rare occasions that my family has a sit-down dinner together. The main reason is extended family comes over and my mother likes to put on a show for them. Dinner is always more extravagant than what is expected and then what can be afforded by most is District 12. I am to help my mother in the kitchen preparing ham, roasted potatoes and rolls. I assume she started working on the bird's milk cake before she called me to help. She might have finished it. It's an old recipe that has been in her family before there even was a Panem.

Over the years my mother has begun to call me down to assist her earlier and earlier in the process. She's a wonderful cook and has no need for me my help but it's always been clear to me that as a Merchant woman my fate is clear. I will marry, have children and die; that is of course if I survive my reapings. It's a clear expectation of society. If I don't I am to hope my brother's future wife is okay with me living with them and I will work for them till I die.

My mother has been slowly grooming me to ensnare a husband since, well since I can remember. She has made sure that I am smart and well mannered, any negative thoughts are to stay inside my head and never see the light of day, at least publicly. I can play the piano better than most teenagers, at least according to my mother who often teaches. I am naturally artistic according to her as well, and my talent should thrive under the right conditioning. To be honest she sucks the fun out of art. I hold 'great promise of beauty'. I should have 'no trouble finding a husband' when I'm older. My only down falls are my lack of ambition and antisocial behavior.

Since it's my birthday and we'll have guests my mother insists my father be sober. My mother will be all smiles and polite shallow small talk. I hate my birthday. It's mostly fake, the genuine interaction from some of our guests feels cheapened by the hollow atmosphere.

In addition to the Rose's this year, our usual guest are in attendance, my grandfather Anton, my mother's father, and my Aunt Nicole, my mother's older sister. This is my first birthday without my grandmother Lucille. She was a kind older woman, my father's mother, as a small child she would sing to me songs in a foreign tongue or some long-forgotten language I don't know which. She said that her name was passed down with the lullaby she hoped I would do the same even if I never had a daughter and passed down my middle name I could pass on the songs. She sang them to me often, my favorite was about someone who was bathing in a spring only to come across a happy nightingale and they started crying over their beloved who left after they ignored a request for a bouquet of roses. Part of me was entranced by the idea that you could lose someone over something so trivial but it was the last line that broke my heart the narrator just wanted for the bush to keep the roses and for them to still have their beloved's heart.

My mother dresses me in burgundy taffeta dress there was nothing special about the dress except for the fabric, of course my mother would find a way to be extravagant without being showy, and new black patent leather Mary Janes my birthday gift from my mother, great new school shoes. Part of me wants to laugh, I might only wear this dress once.

The smell of wintergreen tickles my nose as I reach the bottom step, it is clean, crisp, and cool. Mother must have tossed the leaves from her tea into a small bowl near the door to act as potpourri. The scent mixes with the smell of hot cider on the stove top, laced with oranges and cloves. In theory the smells would contradict, something so cold and warm but it just seems more like winter. Cool wintergreen scent and the warmth of the spiced cider balance in a way only Mother would know. I make it just down just as our first guests arrive. My Grandpa is a relatively large man broad shoulders, graying hair, thin rimmed glasses, and a hearty laugh. "Well look at you Bright Eyes. I swear you look more and more like your mother every year. You look so much like her at your age."

"Thank you." I say politely as he looks me over than he envelopes me in a hug. His hugs always make me feel safe and loved. I honestly don't know how I feel about the comparison, I know it's meant to be a complement. My mother is easily one of the most beautiful women in the district, with golden hair I got from her, the shape of her chin which both Mathis and I inherited is just this side of square. Though in mine and Mathis's case we have a slightly dimpled chin, which we inherited from our father; mine tends to come out when I smile. She has bright blue upturned eyes, and glowing skin. Her nose a little too wide and a long for her face, her top lip too thin to match the bottom still she has a nice smile though it always seems plastered there. I can't recall the last real smile she gave me.

As she comes in my grandfather tells her "Doesn't Iris take after you Alexandra?"

She smiles that ever-present smile it flatters for the slightest of moments than its back before it really leaves. The smile doesn't touch her eyes. "I think your right dad." My mother says as she glances at me and puts her hands on my shoulders, standing behind me, she squeezes them. My mother only ever glances at me, looks through me, or stares at my forehead. As long as I can remember she's never looked me in the eye. Sometimes I swear that I catch a glimpse of distain and just as quickly guilt both wiped away so fast I find myself questioning ever seeing either.

Aunt Nicole agrees, she's a statuesque woman with pale blonde hair, sharing the same eyes as my mother, with a straight nose, and full lips, she's warmer than my mother but not by much. "Warren is going to have to beat the boys with a stick off her, alright."

"Iris why don't you take your gifts and place them on the coffee table then check on your brother." This is not a question or a request, but a statement. I take the parcels wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and do as she demands. I help Mathis button the sleeves of his pale blue button down. By the time I come down with Mathis the Roses have arrived. Their gifts have joined the others on the coffee table, Mrs. Rose hands my mother ivory poinsettia, Mr. Rose hands her a bottle of what I assume is wine and a canister.

"Thank you. Dad would you mind getting Warren he should be in the office. I'll put this in the kitchen. Iris, Mathis would you help our guests with their coats?"

As we go to put their coats our mother pulls Mathis a side and touches his hair. "I asked you to get it cut, it looks like a mop. Why would you do this to me if you knew we had guests?"

"Sorry, but the barber didn't have a chance to get to me today."

"Just get it cut by the next time they see you. I don't want to look like I let my children run around looking like barbarians." The conversation is hushed whispers in the corner, no one notices. I know she wants to say more but she dares not risk drawing attention. Depending on how well tonight goes Mathis might not have to worry. Her fingers ghost over his hair, not actually touching it, she straightens herself as she huffs, hands in fists and walks away in such a graceful manner one would never guess she's anything other than pleased.

It's clearly not the case no one would think us barbarians. Mathis's hair is on the long side but it's not completely uncommon for boys his age to wear it as such. I think he looks handsome in his pale blue shirt, black slacks, and shiny loafers. My mother has her hair in an intricate up do, braids and curls tucked into a bun, a sleeve less layered V-neck knee length dress that accentuates her small waist. I haven't seen my father tonight but I'm sure she has made him presentable for company. Tonight is too important to her for us not to meet her standards. Mother was excited when I 'asked' if I could extend an invitation to them, knowing that she would say yes, her eyes gleamed with the idea of associating with a luxury family.

I don't pay much attention to my mother and her social endeavors but there is a social hierarchy amongst the Merchant class. There is us, the hard labor sector, we do manual labor which is looked down upon but it's hard and _expensive_ work, we provide needed furniture whether it be from government contracts to personal orders or repairs. If a new home is being built, we furnish it, we make wooden toys, rockers for growing families, and the coffins for the children lost in the games. We are the bottom of the social totem pole.

There are the basic shop owners, the bakery, the textile shop, the shoe shop, grocers, tailor and the like; these shops as far as I can tell are either trying their best to survive or to move onto a different spot on the social ladder. Whether that be the wealth laborers, even on occasion the respected government workers, or the luxury shops. My mother clearly wanted to move to the luxury spot in society but oddly married a laborer. I don't know why if she was the pretty, well dressed daughter of the textile owners she probably could have married into whatever she wanted. My aunt married the tailor who died earlier this year when she was a few months pregnant. Now she runs the shop with my older cousin Roba who is three years younger than Mathis and raising five-year-old Cylus Jr. and new born Mitcham.

The luxury shops such as the creamery, sweets shop, jewelers, and florist shop although they have the least demand are just that luxurious, it's a statement just coming out with one of their products. You tell every other merchant that we are doing extremely well in life.

Government jobs are the silent back bone of our society, those who handle everything from filing orders to the Capitol to marriage, death, and birth records to tesserae applications and housing. These jobs are respected and usually pay well, although they are respected since it isn't anything you can pass down to family they aren't usually permeant. It's mostly sons waiting to take over the family shop, younger sons looking to marry into a shop, or girls with nothing to entice someone into marriage.

I know my mother expects me to marry well, as the only daughter of a laborer I should be able to marry anyone I want, from what I'm told I'm pretty, smart, and with my grandfather and aunt I am well dressed and I know my mother will start pressuring me when I'm older to make a good match. I'm sure she sees me married to the only son of a luxury family, though she has made it no secret that the mayor's only son is a few years older than me. I know ideally, I would marry into the most powerful family in the district but she'll take me becoming the florist's wife if she can get it in a heartbeat.

Father is dressed exactly how my mother would like, in a crisp, clean dark gray suit with a striped blue tie. His hair combed back, he even shaved twice today by the look of his still smooth face normally he has dark stubble covering his tan face. I wonder if the suit is new, I don't think I've seen it before. I wouldn't put it past Her Grace to have one made for him when she found out it wouldn't just be family. It must be new it's well fitting my father's sturdy build.

My mother is exactly how she is with people, she is polite, funny, and charming. She knows when to tone it down so she doesn't come on to strong and does it in just a way that you feel like reaching out and becoming her friend. I don't know if I'm jealous or if I'm in awe of her. I do know that I admire how charming she is, she's just as charming as I am awkward.

Dinner is wonderful, as any meal my mother cooks. The ham just right, juicy, mouth wateringly tender-it's practically falling off the bone, just the right amount of salty, with a touch of rich sweetness from the bourbon brown sugar glaze, the sugar adding a slight crunch to the crust and it is so aromatic I can't help but want more as I grow fuller. The rolls airy, soft, yet with a slightly crunchy golden crust, buttery, and fluffy. The smell of the rolls has made me want this dinner to happen although I don't want to be here. The roasted potatoes, the small red ones, are tender yet crispy, lightly covered with butter and herbs that I can't quite identify.

Our guests seem to agree with me, as they mummer at the first bite. I know my mother must me smirking behind that glass of wine but I don't care the food is just too good to care. Everyone is too focused on the meal in front of them to notice my mother purposely over filled their glasses so there would me none left for my father. My father drinks his hot cider with a look of disappointment, he'll remember little of the meal but he will remember how we was not given a drink at his own table. He looks at my mother with a glare my mother just raises her eyebrows at him as she takes a sip of her wine and turns her attention to our guests. Things won't go well when everyone leaves, _at_ _best_ he'll just drink himself to sleep.

"Iris how is school going?" My aunt asks between delicate bites of her food. My father was staring holes into my mother's head until Aunt Nicole's comment.

"Great." My parents say at the same time. They might antagonize each other but they both take pride in us. It might be them reliving their youth or a way of saying my child is better than yours, thus I am a good parent-I am better than you. I have no idea what goes on in their heads but I'm sure that it's not about what's best for me and Mathis.

"Iris has the top marks in her class." My mother continues, basking in it I am sure. Father goes back to playing his role in this farce.

"Do you spend too much time with your face in a book Iris?" My grandfather teases.

"That's how we met. I was in the library finishing some homework and she came to the rescue, when my finger tapping distracted her."

"If she wasn't around, I'm sure Cedar would never do his homework let alone study I'm sure of it." Mr. Rose jokes though you can tell there is a slight level of truth to his words.

"I think she understands half of my material better than I do." Cedar chimes in once again, his mother explains that he is two grades ahead of me.

My mother's eyes light up at his words, well she's happy about me spending time there.

My father nods in acknowledgement most likely happy that I'm studying and I that I am apparently advanced. "Math?" My father says speaks for the first time that night.

"Yes, sir." Cedar replies before turning back to his plate of food.

"She's always been good at math, I think she recognized numbers before she could speak." I don't know if I'd go that far but I do find the logic of math comforting. There is right and wrong in math, no exceptions, far less complicated than people. Father looks up from his ham and changes the subject. "Nicole is Roba watching the boys tonight?"

"Yes, she was nice enough to watch them. I'd hate to take Mitcham out in the cold unless I really need to and when my sitter ended up with a cold..." Mother than said something about how with them staying home she didn't have to get extra chairs for tonight than laughed. Another major difference between my parents my father comes off stiff and rehearsed, completely unnatural, and just bland, while my mother is my mother.

The conversation is light. Although I know how forced and artificial the night is I can't help but be happy to be in a room containing so many people that care about me.

Once dinner is over Mathis and I clear the table and my mother comes with hot chocolate and coffee. That must have been what was in the canister it wasn't out of our price range it was luxurious and my parents called it 'a waste of money on a child's drink'. Normally I wouldn't put it passed my mother to buy it as a way to show off to guesses but not on hot chocolate she wouldn't put that much thought into trying to win someone over with a 'child's drink'. Nor do I think she'd waste the money on it even if she did, it was too frivolous in her mind, but not a dress that might never get used again...

I sit down and Mathis returns with _pitchy moloko_ , _bird's milk_ cake. He places it in front of me it is beautiful gleaming with its shiny chocolate glaze. It hasn't even been cut but the aroma is already making my mouth water. My mother is done passing out drinks and before I look up from the cake my grandfather is calling a toast.

"Now I know it's a little unorthodox of me toasting to the birthday girl at dessert instead at the beginning of the meal but I can't resist toasting to bird's milk. Iris you are growing up into a smart, beautiful young lady I am sure you will grow up and do well in life. So, I give you this advice enjoy your last official year of childhood. Behave in the unladylike manor I am sure your mother is trying to instill in you and I know she will have a talk with you and me about how you should ignore me and how I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place. Enjoy the warm sun on your face, dance in the rain, and anything else you want I know it's your last year before you are force to enter the reaping so be a child before it all slips away. Now before this gets too heavy there is a story that goes with this cake for our guests who may not be familiar with it _'What could bring greater happiness to a man who already has everything?'_ a man asked himself only to think _'Maybe only bird's milk.'_ While we can't give you the world we can give you bird's milk. Happy birthday our darling girl." My grandfather sits down as the Roses and my aunt cheer and clap at his speech. My mother's eyes slits aimed at her father, my father has a smirk on his face, one eyebrow raised at her clearly, he is amused with the turn of events.

Mathis has a few small plates and a knife in hand to help me cut the cake. He places a kiss on the top of my head "Happy birthday Issy" he whispers into my hair before he helps pass out cake. It's so light, sponge cake, filled with an airy soufflé topped with a thin decadent chocolate glaze. I let the first bite practically melt on my tongue. Mother is showered with complements on cake. Mr. Rose comments how he, as the son of the former town baker, is not familiar with the cake and is sure if it were sold it would sell out. My grandfather tells him of when he was young a few years after the war the Capitol sent the grocer agar-agar by mistake his grandmother bought it all saying that's how the cake was meant to be made. It resulted in an airier more stable soufflé in the cake.

With the first sip of hot chocolate I can tell it is Mrs. Rose's homemade blend. It's rich and creamy, laced with a good helping of ground cinnamon and made with cane sugar. It's quickly becoming one of my favorites. Even the aroma congers a safe warm feeling of home, fall, cold nights and the promise of warmth, it makes me feel and odd satisfaction in my bones.

Once we were done with the cake I opened my gifts. I received a book of fairytales from grandpa with an inscription on the inside cover echoing his earlier words as well as some yellow fabric which Aunt Nicole offers to make into whatever I wish. Mathis got me oil pastels knowing I favored them, out of our mothers approved gifts, because of the mess it leaves my fingers in a slight spite to our mother. Watercolors from Aunt Nicole, a suggestion from mother I'm sure. From Mr. Rose a book on Greek Mythology and from Mrs. Rose yellow hair ribbon and a leather-bound diary.

Cedar hands me his gift, I open it to find a brass locket; oval a delicate border, intricate axis that lead to a diamond boarder connecting the two an enlarged version of the diamond in the middle that seems encased in a leaf pattern. Its sturdy looking but clearly delicate in nature, he tells me to open it. One of the sketches I did for him is on the opening flap the other has a piece of paper neatly folded. I give him a hug. "I love it. I'll read your note later."

The last gift is from my father. It's a large wooden dollhouse, painted a pale yellow it's incredibly detailed. "I found it amongst my mother's things when she died. I just fixed it up, added a new coat of paint and made some miniature furniture. I know you're too big to play with dolls but my mom would have wanted you to have it. Last year of childhood and all that." I look up to see my father with a tumbler of liquor, my mother throwing a hard look at his face.

Everyone leaves soon after, my grandpa hugs me on last time and whispers bayushki bayu then tells Mathis bai bai. Then the door closes behind them leaving a cold, harsh gust of winter in.

Over all I know my mother is pleased, I stayed quiet and gracious, Mathis was polite and helpful, most importantly my father was sober for 99% of the night.

* * *

 **Authors Notes** : Bayushki bayu is a Russian term of endearment while it doesn't have literal translation it's used for younger children, similar to goodnight or sleep tight, while bai bai is used for older children it's closer to sleep well. While Iris is 11, the term seemed appropriate given the focus that her grandfather gave to her childhood.

Bird's milk cake is also a candy known under various names depending on the location, the story of that Anton tells is how Jan Wedel who first developed it named it. Agar-agar is made from algae and is very much like gelatin and is kind of a signature ingredient in _pitchy moloko_ so it can be argued that this cake isn't really one.

I know it's a little far-fetched that after so many generations that there would be such a strong cultural history but I think things like food, lullabies and fables would survive.

The song that Iris was referring to is _A La Claire Fontaine_ a personal favorite of mine.

I mentioned previously that I was working on a companion series of sorts **Whispers From 12** should be up soon so keep an eye out for that, I'd like to think the first chapter is pretty funny. I would really appreciate it if you guys think I should upload it seperately or as little bonus chapters.

Now I know that Mr. and Mrs. Carver don't seem like completely horrible people but remember that they are on their best behavior. I hope I managed to convey how much of a social climber Mrs. Carver is and how isolated Mr. Carver is even from the rest of his family. I also hope you saw how antagonistic the relationship the two even though it was a small glimpse. I also hope you noticed how Iris only has one verbal line in this. Even her descriptive ones are well mannered responses. In fact, Cedar and Mathis did very little talking as well. Mrs. Carver has a 'children should be seen and not heard' way about her.

Mrs. Carver originally started off as a Southern mother who, wants her daughter to be accomplished, smart, and marry well. She's kind of morphed into something else, while similar she's become more dimensional than I originally intended.

90% of this chapter is to show the difference between the Carver household and everything else.

I didn't really go into it but the well-dressed part is because I would assume clothing would be an unwanted expense and if you had high quality close those would be passed on to one's children possibly grandchildren; like family heirlooms but more practical. In a way, it would be like a small dowry on its own. Even with the dress Iris wore, Mrs. Carver is low-key hoping for a granddaughter.

I also hope that the social hierarchy makes sense to everyone.

Again, thanks for reading, please feel free to follow, favorite and review.


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